Not Just a Dream
by Camfield
Summary: Prompted by Murr-miay on DA by the pic with the same name.  Megatron will do anything for his people, including molesting a sleeping Optimus Prime.


Not Just a Dream

Bunny from murr-miay from her awesome picture by the same name on Deviant Art.

Universe: Animated

Rating: nc17

Characters: Megatron/Optimus Prime

Warnings: Non-con -taking advantage of another while sleeping, Oral sex

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own poor writing and ideas.

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><p>Megatron slipped through the window and rested clear optics on the body resting in the bed.<p>

It was late enough that everyone was abed and early enough that the maids hadn't yet woken to begin preparing for the day and Megatron found himself content to drink in his target for the moment.

He was all grace where the warlord was all power. A sleek, rounded frame that glistened with care in the sparse moonlight, it beckoned him with the power of a courtesan. A delicate finger of light and gauze crooked in a come hither gesture that ticked his chin and caressed his facial derma, the lightest of breezes catching his cloak to make it flit about his legs.

This Prime. So young yet, not even long past his final upgrade, and he had already shown more promise than the past ones combined. He was fair, if naïve, and Megatron was determined to sparkbond him through any means necessary.

His own kingdom was failing, crying out for people, for food, for life. The lands had grown barren from something unknown, something that was as incorporeal as the wraiths that misted through the cemeteries before dawn. Sparkbonding would give his people a chance to survive in a way that no amount of fighting ever could and Megatron was willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good of his people.

Looking at the young Prime, however, he felt that this was certainly not going to be a sacrifice.

When a groan caught his audials, he watched carefully as the Prime rolled over onto his abdominal plating, pert aft rising slightly above the sheets. His hands were clutching at his pillow and a light flush appeared under his shuttered optics.

A near silent chuckle escaped the warlord's lips as he moved soundlessly over the floor to the foot of the bed. The little movements, the breathy sounds were ambrosia to the older mech's processor and he watched and listened to them greedily.

One black hand reached out and stroked the upturned aft lightly, the owner ready to vanish should the mech on the bed awaken. Nothing, so he stroked again, firmer this time, and watched the aft almost follow his hand as it left the plating. A third stroke and this time he lingered, fingering and tracing the seams of the young Prime's valve panel.

The gasps and moans from the blue and red mech only prodded the warlord further and he lowered himself to his knees. He nuzzled the still closed panel gently, glossa just barely touching the metal, and had to shut down his vocalizer when it slid open right in front of his nose.

The tangy smell of lubricant was immediately on his glossa and in his nasal sensors. It was a thick, heady scent that Megatron knew he would remember perfectly no matter what else happened. His mouth opened and he drew in deep vents, trying to store the memory of that scent in his processor.

A slight whimper tore him from his processing and his glossa reached out to catch a drop of lubricant that dripped from the Prime. His glossa came out again immediately and pressed carefully to the slick rim, running back and forth collecting the extra lubricant. Again and again his glossa flicked out to run over the rapidly slickening rim before returning to the warlord's mouth with more lubricant for him to savor.

Megatron was venting heavily, nose nearly pressed to the Prime's blue aft, but never paused in his task of collecting the purple fluid he seemed determined to catch every drop of. A small but noticeable thrust backward almost startled him, his optics immediately rising to see if the bot was still in recharge or not.

Beautiful.

The Prime was venting in gasps, his face flushed and mouth slack, and his hands were clutching the pillows tight before releasing them and starting all over again.

It was something that Megatron vowed no one else would ever see.

He almost dove back into the slick valve. This time holding the Prime's hips up with one hand while the other braced on the bed he reached deep into the slick heat and back out to lap at the soft metalflesh folds. The valve tried to clamp down, but his glossa was too slick, too small for it to be held captive. He purred, the vibration going from his vocalizer straight into the young bot's valve and was rewarded with a gasping cry.

He stopped, breathing in the invigorating scent of arousal again.

"NO! Please… No…"

Sweeter words were never spoken.

Megatron angled his face to rasp his glossa over the cluster of sensor nodes at the top of the rim, the body in front of him tightening with each pass over the sensitive button. He wiggled his glossa back inside the Prime before pressing his middle finger down on the cluster and circling gently.

The reaction was immediate. The Prime arched and writhed from the stimulation, gasps and moans and whimpers all begging, pleading his supposedly imagined lover to do more. To let him overload oh dear Primus PLEASE let him overload.

The finger kept the pressure, kept the small circling motion even as Megatron had to lean back to avoid getting hit in the head.

He pressed down, firmly, and the young Prime shrieked in overload. Lubricant puddled on the bed and the smaller body shuddered in aftershocks for a moment before the warlord removed his hand.

He moved quickly, sliding out the balcony door just as the Prime unshuttered his optics and looked around blearily, sleep and pleasure still clouding his optics.

Soon, he crooned to the Prime silently. Soon I shall be able to covet you for the world to see.

Optimus Prime looked over to the balcony, but only saw the subtle flapping of the curtains in the breeze.


End file.
